


Second Go Around

by gillywulf



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, M/M, Potterlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-05
Updated: 2014-02-12
Packaged: 2018-01-11 05:51:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1169453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gillywulf/pseuds/gillywulf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock knows he's different from a very young age, so it's not a total surprise when he finds out he's a wizard. But the opportunity is lost when his mother refuses. </p>
<p>Or, how Sherlock grew up a wizard without attending Hogwarts, and how it ended up okay anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Start

Sherlock Holmes had always known he was different.

While other boys were different in that they could easily kick a football halfway across the pitch, he could do it without even touching it. He wouldn't though, mummy would get angry. 'Telekinesis' was the common name he'd found for it in his private research. But there were never any confirmed cases, which made the research difficult and unreliable.

However, it wasn't only telekinesis. He could change the colour of Redbeard's fur, freeze his juice drink (or make father's explode when Sherlock was especially angry), and even conjure safety nets when he realized that he was falling out of a tree and that he'd die unless a miracle happened.

But on top of that, he was brilliant. They knew it was genetic because so was his older brother Mycroft. But Mycroft couldn't do what Sherlock could. So when he learned to control his power enough that things weren't happening when he might sneeze, it was his intellect getting him trouble. He would see the parent of another student committing adultery from the way their lunch was packed, or what gender a new sibling was from the dirt under fingernails.

His classmates were unsettled and stayed away.

So Sherlock Holmes grew up in isolation with naught but his dog and his peculiar powers. It was alright, but he was lonely. It gave him long hours every day where he could try to control his powers. It was difficult and more than once things went wrong or nothing happened. He kept trying, as a Holmes would do.

Sherlock liked having powers, he felt that it gave him an air of distinction, separate from that of his family's.

His family however, didn't see it that way. Sherlock's mother was a highly respected woman – as was his father – and she would have no _freaks_ for sons. She glared at him unabashedly every time he talked about or used his powers, and so he learned not to. But it never stopped weird things from happening. So when a severe elderly looking woman came to the door asking for Sherlock the summer after he turned eleven, it was just another weird thing. She introduced herself as Professor Minerva McGonagall of Hogwarts. His mother led her to the sitting room where Sherlock was reading and frowned at the woman.

“I have never heard of that school, and I know every good school,” she said.

The undertone was obvious. _If I haven't heard of it, my son isn't going there._ Sherlock scowled and sank into his seat. He closed the book and set it gently on the floor. He didn't want to bring too much attention to himself, mother would get angry again. It was for naught as the strange woman turned and fixed her gaze on him.

“From what I've heard, you are a very smart boy. Do you like learning?”

Mother was angry at the Professor's blatant disregard for her disapproval. With a quick glance in her direction. Sherlock nodded. She smiled and shifted her body to face him more. Sherlock's mind supplied that she wanted whatever she was asking for to be his decision, not his mother's. She was effectively cutting her out of the equation.

“Tell me, can you do things? Strange things that you don't think you should be able to do?” she asked.

Sherlock gave a start. He hadn't had a public outburst in years, how could she know about that? He looked at her intently. Her face was calm, no hint of amusement- she was serious. He nodded slowly, whatever this was, mummy wouldn't like it. The Professor let a small smile grace her face.

“How would you feel about going to a school where everybody else can as well? I imagine you've been practicing with it, attempting to control it? Ah, well Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry will cement that control, teach you how to really use it,” she said calmly and seriously.

“From what we can tell, you are already very strong. Learning to control it will only make you stronger,” she added.

She pulled a parchment envelope from her robes (because that's what she was wearing, as odd as it was) and handed it to him. Sherlock took it and examined it. His name was written in flowing green ink on the front in just as impressive handwriting. On the other side was a red wax seal with what he presumed to be the school's crest. Before he could open it, his mother interjected.

“He will not be going,” she said quietly, yet forceful.

Her eyes were hard and determined as they bore into Professor McGonagall's.

“I will not have a _magician_ for a son. Leave,”

Her posture was straight, voice monotone.Sherlock's heart sank a bit. A vase across the room cracked loudly. McGonagall's eyes shot to it before looking back to Sherlock's mother.

“I must insist madam, young Mr. Holmes will be under the best care and instruction and it would be beneficial for everyone involved if he learned how to use his magic properly-”

His mother was standing now. Sherlock knew from experience that if his mother deigned to act out her anger physically, that there was no winning. She was not a tall woman, not by anyone's standards. Nor was she excessively thin, like many of her friends aimed to be.

None of that meant she wasn't terrifying. She was a hard woman. She expected her children to know things most parents wouldn't expect for years to come, if ever. Sherlock suspected that she'd virtually run the British government at one point. She always denied it, of course, but he knew Mycroft secretly agreed, and Mycroft was never wrong.

The last time Sherlock had seen her this angry, he'd turned the neighbor's cat into a trumpeter swan. The woman had screamed in terror and Sherlock's mother turned to look at him coldly until he turned it back after the woman passed out. He did, but the cat still only ever honked. The talking-to he received after that stunt put him off mischief for six months. Even after, he never did anything as obvious again.The way she looked now wasn't as furious as then, but just as stubborn. She was going to get what she wanted and that was that. The vase across the room cracked loudly again.

“He will not be leaving this house until I say so. Please do not misunderstand me, he will not be going to your _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_. Nothing you can say or do, short of mine or my husband's death will change that”

Professor McGongall frowned deeply but stood. She smoothed out her robes as she did.

“Madam, you must know that this is a mistake. Sherlock will cause much more trouble having not gone to Hogwarts. But you are correct, it is your choice, as a _family_. Please make the correct one,”

She paused and glanced back to Sherlock. She gave him a soft smile and sighed.

“Thank you for your time,” and she turned to leave.

Sherlock's hand clenched around the parchment letter she'd handed him. He and his mother stayed rooted to their positions until long after the strange Professor had left. She rounded on him, her index finger pointed directly at him.

“I never want to hear about this school or your _talents_ again. This whole thing is highly unbecoming for a family like ours. Do you understand, Sherlock? Never again,” she spat.

The vase across the room shattered and the pieces clattered to the floor.

“ _Stop it!_ I _know_ you can stop!” she shouted.

Her face was contorted in rage and Sherlock couldn't bring himself to look away or respond that _no_ , he couldn't always stop it. She didn't wait for him, though. She left the room in as composed a manner as she could. Sherlock continued to sit there. There were others like him, enough to even constitute a school. He looked back down to the envelope. With gentle hands, he opened it, and found more green flowing ink.

 

 

_Dear Mr. Holmes,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins 1 September. We await your owl no later than 31 July._

It had to be real. There was too much sincerity in the Professor for it to be otherwise. Why would she have come to his house knowing about his powers for a prank? It was too elaborate. But he wouldn't be able to go. Mummy had made up her mind. He clenched his fist around the letter and hopped off his seat, making a mad dash for his bedroom. Once there, he fell to the floor and pulled out a small chest from under his bed.

He lifted the lid.

Inside were the things that he knew his family would not approve of. A complete rabbit skeleton, a book of exotic poisons and where they were found, a magazine of naked men that Mycroft had thrown away (he preferred women, so he had no need for the three his friend had given him, and Sherlock didn't want all three in order to be discrete), and newspaper clippings of the Carl Powers murder – because it was a murder – were among the things in the chest.

Sherlock dropped the interesting letter with green ink into the collection and frowned. He really wanted to go. But with the knowledge that he couldn't, he fell back onto his bum and retreated into his burgeoning mind palace.

He slowly built a new wing (he expected this to take up a lot of space) dedicated entirely to his “magic” and began filling it in with things he already knew. As he began sorting and collecting, Sherlock understood that he would likely be doing this for the rest of his life. With a resigned sigh, he got to it in earnest.

He had time.


	2. The Oddly Dead Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock meets some new people.

The rat-at-at-at of the highly illegal machine gun rang in Sherlock's ears as he crouched behind a crate in hiding. Sherlock pressed his fingers into his temples, concentrating. If the gun was on standby, and thus still, this would be a lot easier.

Venturing into his mind palace, he pulled up the RPKM's internal workings and quickly determined the easiest way to make the weapon jam. On cue, the firing stopped at the sound of a loud ping. Immediately, Sherlock launched himself over the crate and punched the first smuggler on the side if his head.

The man collapsed and Sherlock knew a concussion was almost definite. He turned his attention to the second smuggler just in time to see a crowbar being aimed at his head. Sherlock flicked his hands at the man and all movement stopped. He released a heavy sigh and pulled his phone out of his pocket.

"Lestrade, I've got your suspects" he stated triumphantly.  
  
\---  
  
Half an hour later, Sherlock was just finishing his official statement. Most of it was lies, as Sherlock knew no one would believe he had immobilized the man without even touching him.  
  
He had been working with New Scotland Yard for almost five years, now. He knew their staff and operations. Believing him was never a real priority. But it was okay. Lestrade was good. Sherlock would never admit to having friends, but if anyone were to get close, it would be Lestrade.

He'd helped Sherlock get clean after 'the drug episode'. Sometimes having crazy powers and being smarter than everyone around you took its toll. But the DI had stepped in and said 'no cases unless you're clean' and Sherlock had complied. The cases were a better high than the drugs anyway.  
  
Sherlock wanted to gloat at Lestrade but found him conspicuously absent. The officer taking his statement helpfully supplied the senior officer's whereabouts.  
  
"He's on another scene. Call came in half a minute after yours. Apparently it's a real stinker" Sherlock glared at him for his wording.  
  
"Do you know where?"  
  
"Sorry no, not a case I'm on" the officer answered with a shrug. Thankfully, Sherlock's phone rang seconds later.  
  
"Lestrade"  
  
"Yeah, unfortunately. Look, I got a body here with no cause of death, obvious or otherwise" the exhaustion was obvious in Lestrade's voice. Sherlock immediately deduced that he'd been up for almost twenty seven hours by this point. Two back to back cases and their accumulating paperwork would do that.  
  
"What do you mean 'no cause of death'? How do you know he wasn't poisoned?" Sherlock asked.  
  
"Well, obviously there are some tests we haven't run yet, but Anderson is pretty positive that no poison was used. No injections, no discolouration, no bloating" Sherlock scowled.  
  
"Anderson is and idiot, he wouldn't know Tuberculosis from Asthma” Sherlock heard Lestrade sigh on the other end but the man said nothing. That had been an incident they'd collectively decided to put behind them. 'Embarrassing for everyone involved' hardly covered it.  
  


"Text me the address" Sherlock ordered. He pocketed his phone and made for the main road. While in the cab, he thought about what Lestrade had said. No cause of death was interesting, but impossible. There wouldn't be a body otherwise. When he arrived, Lestrade was waiting for him outside.  
  
"I'm not wasting time for you and Donovan to insult each other today. This is too confusing," he said as soon as Sherlock was close enough to hear. They started walking inside and Lestrade kept talking.  
  
"We had Molly even come down and take a look before it got to the morgue. She's found absolutely nothing. Perfectly healthy body, it just plopped down dead one day," he waved his arms around in frustration. While what Lestrade told Sherlock was doubtlessly important, he could on one thing in particular.  
  
"Molly? She doesn't need to be here!" Lestrade started nodding but ended up shaking his head.  
  
"We need something to go on! We've got nothing!"  
  
"I thought that's what I was I here for"  
  
"We like to get as much help as possible" Sherlock scowled but followed the DI into the room with the 'body'. The large man was slouched against a comfortable chair, as if he'd been sitting in it and was barely out if it when he'd been died.

Sherlock looked around the room and easily determined the man's family wealth, along with an odd predilection for the colour green and snakes. With the age and number of those objects, he figured that they were family heirlooms that the man had grown out of once he reached adulthood. He crouched next to the man for a closer look. His brown eyes were open wide and his face was frozen in sadness and resignation. Had he known the killer? Likely, based on position and face contortions.

The man's clothes were well maintained and expensive. After looking inside the jacket collar, Sherlock frowned. This was an English suit, without a doubt, but not a maker he was familiar with. It was too expensive and precise to be an amateur’s work either. No, this was an expert he'd never seen. The tie was far less quality than the rest. Navy blue and cheap. But still custom. It didn't match with all the green, something anyone who'd associated with him would likely have known. A gift then. Significant other?

Sherlock cast another glance around the room. Yes, girlfriend. Not living together though. He wanted to ask her though, as it seemed he was in the process of removing some of the green and snakes. Was she afraid of snakes? Disliked the colour green? Sherlock picked up his right hand, finding callouses that looked like he pointed a stick at things on a regular basis. What did that mean? Sherlock scowled even deeper and reached for the inner parts of the jacket.

“Oh! Sherlock! It's been a while! I mean, not really, you were in the morgue yesterday for those bits of intestine, but- I guess that wasn't funny-” Sherlock recognized Molly's squeaky nervous voice immediately. He sighed and bowed his head before straightening and giving her the most false grin he could muster.

“Molly, what a surprise,” His face dropped to it's usual blankness.

“Tell me what you saw,” he ordered. Molly's mouth moved a few times without noise before she managed to speak.

“Sorry, um, white male, late twenties to early thirties. Perfectly healthy, but he's dead. I've checked everything I possibly could without opening him up” she spewed. Sherlock felt his irritation spike.

“So you've got-”

“Nothing, yeah” Silence fell heavy over the room and the few people in it. The sounds of clicks from cameras and occasional quiet talking. Lestrade was getting fidgety, and that was unacceptable.

“Tell me what you know” Sherlock said sharply, turning back to the body to try and piece things together. Lestrade hesitated, feeling Sherlock's annoyance. He cleared his throat, and with a glance to Molly, he started.

“The owner of this house is Gregory Goyle, which we've confirmed to be our victim. He's thirty years old and his body was found by some kids, breaking into his house 'cuz they thought he was out,” He took a moment to mutter 'stupid buggers' under his breath before continuing.

“Family's well off but it doesn't look like he tries to live off it. He's been dead for what looks like seven to eight hours, but Molly says there are some inconsistencies,” Sherlock nodded and bent back down. The time of death was very strange. Rigor Mortis had _started_ to set in, but not taken full effect, which after seven hours, would be wrong.

“I think-” Sherlock was interrupted by two men standing in the doorway of the room. The first was dark haired with glasses and stood in front of the taller ginger man. They were both dressed in what looked like uniforms, but were too ornamental, with all it's trimmings and appliqué. Sherlock could just see the edges of a defined scar on the forehead of the dark haired one. He was also holding up a badge.

“SIS, this is our crime scene now,” he said, his voice even.

“I'm Agent Potter, this is my partner, agent Weasley” He handed his badge to Lestrade for confirmation. From where he was standing, Sherlock could see that the badge was not SIS. He'd seen SIS. However, he found his gaze attracted to the ginger agent – Weasley. He was staring in the body, almost in remorse.

“You knew him” Sherlock hadn't meant for that to slip out, but there it was, so he kept his eyes on the man. Weasley's gaze shot up to Sherlock's in surprise. The usual ‘how did you know’ question was asked, but Sherlock brushed it aside. It didn't matter, he didn't care, and it was a waste of time. No, he would not let them have this case, they would be compromised due to previous knowledge of the victim and the mystery was _too great for him to pass on._ He'd not be letting this one get away.

“Frankly, I don't care who you are, this is my case now. And your badge does not say SIS” The two men stared at him in surprise. Lestrade sighed and shook his head.

“Of course it's SIS you berk!” he yelled, exasperated. Sherlock rounded on him.

“No it doesn't, are you blind?” His temper was starting to go, and the common folks' idiocy was grating on his nerves. Potter managed to get himself under control first and turned to Lestrade and Molly.

“Would you mind if we spoke to him alone?” The DI threw up his hands in frustration and led Molly out of the room, muttering something about bringing her back to St. Bart's. Sherlock scowled at the two men, refusing to say anything. Potter reached out with the badge.

“What does it say?” he asked. A few long seconds passed before Sherlock blinked. _What did it say?_ What kind of question was that?

“'Ministry Auror'. What ministry?” Sherlock was confused. He knew all the branches of government. He didn't necessarily know what they all did, but he knew them. The ginger stood up slightly straighter, finally seeming to come to terms with the conversation.

“The Ministry of Magic, 'course” he announced with pride. Sherlock looked at him. His movements were clumsy, too over reaching. He let Potter take the lead in most situations, and Potter seemed sure that he would. So they'd known each other for years – likely – and Potter was the more confident one. Weasley wore a ring, and he bore bags under his eyes that told of exhaustion. Married, that age, a young child. He paused and gave a brief sniff. No, the odor of baby powder was too strong, two kids then. His clothes were cheap, but well maintained. His wife was utterly devoted, and they kept spending low. Not unusual for a new family, but this was deep seeded. He was poor growing up. Statistically speaking, lower income families had a harder time in school.

“And I’m sure with your grades, this job was more than you could have possibly hoped for, but they knew you, and they knew Potter, so they took a chance” he said as scathingly as possible. Weasley's shock was obvious.

“Wha-”

“Now tell me who you are” Sherlock demanded. Potter seemed to deliberate for only a moment before he spoke.

“Have you ever heard of Hogwarts?” the question was quiet, but Sherlock jolted as if he'd been struck. He hadn't heard that word since he was eleven, and after he'd turned fifteen, he refused to look at the letter hidden under his bed again. He didn't like missed opportunities, and that had been the biggest. Thinking about it only caused pain.

Potter took his silence as affirmation and grinned. He held out his hand.

“Call me Harry, and that's Ron” he said gesturing to Weasley. Sherlock took Harry's proffered hand with apprehension.

“I'm guessing since you have no idea who we are that your parents didn't let you go, did they?” The detective shook his head.

“Would you like to learn what you've missed?” Sherlock's stomach tied into knots. A second chance? It was too good to be true. But he nodded anyway. Harry grinned.

“Great, I’m going to send my friend John over to your flat, is that alright?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who has read this! Super motivation! Thanks again to hiddlesbuttcumberbooteh for beta-ing!

**Author's Note:**

> First fanfiction in a really long time, and the first one in this fandom. Feedback is welcome! Betaed by the wonderful hiddlesbuttcumberbooteh.


End file.
